Cohesive Whole
by Quicksliver
Summary: Sherlock blows up the microwave. It's the sweetest Valentines Day gift John has ever gotten. John/Sherlock, no spoilers. Happy, mindless fluff to get rid of Post-RBF blues.


**Title:** Cohesive Whole.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Slash, some H/C, Fluff.  
><strong>Characters:<strong> John Watson, Sherlock Holmes  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Established John/Sherlock  
><strong>Notes:<strong> A fic for the wonderful princess_aleera, who is my Valentine. I'm sorry it's a tad late, love. :P Big thank you to jademac2442, who betaed this quickly and perfectly for me. 3  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sherlock, John, all of their friends and the many places the visit do not belong to me. If they did, I wouldn't have to write fanfiction, now would I?  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sherlock blows up the microwave. It's the sweetest Valentines Day gift John's ever gotten.

* * *

><p>"John, this is ridiculous. I can't find the sulphur anywhere."<p>

John sighed a little and rustled his paper, pretending to read a piece on the most recent in a string of ambitious bank heists. Sherlock had been whining for two days about the lack of cases and doing increasingly dangerous experiments involving all sorts of smelly ingredients, a glass bowl and the microwave. "Did you check above the stove?" He eyed Sherlock warily.

"Of course I checked above the stove." The detective sounded disgusted at the question. John rolled his eyes.

"In the spice rack?" The doctor bent the edge of his paper over and took in the hilarious expression of surprise on Sherlock's face. It was adorable, but John decided not to tell Sherlock that. "Next to the copper nuggets and the cinnamon?"

Sherlock growled. John smirked.

About twenty minutes later, when John had gone to his laptop to update his blog, there was a rather loud _bang_ from the kitchen. It was fallowed by a muffled curse and the tinkling sound of shattered glass. John finished off the sentence he was typing with a sigh before turning his head.

"You alright?"

No answer. A tiny flare of panic warmed John's chest. He was out of his seat in an instant and running to the side of a rather dazed looking Sherlock, who had one hand pressed to his head and the other propping himself up in a sitting position. His hair was blown back from his forehead and sticking out at odd angles. A fine haze of rancid green smoke streamed from the microwave's now-shattered door.

"Interesting," Sherlock muttered. Blood dripped down his pale skin from under his hand. Head wounds bled quite a bit, John knew, but he was still shocked. The entire left side of his face seemed to be coated in a layer of red. "I'll have to remember not to mix that again."

"I'm sure you will, now move your hand." John gently pried Sherlock's hand away, exposing an inch-long, diagonal slash that started just above his left eyebrow and ended at what was about the centre of the detective's forehead. John winced. It was fairly deep looking, but the edges were clean and there was no glass stuck in the wound. "I've seen worse." John said.

"You were an army doctor for two tours, I should hope you've seen worse." Sherlock sniped, but his eyes were glassy and there was very little venom to his words. John clasped Sherlock's elbow and hauled him up, steering him around the shattered remains of the microwave towards the bathroom.

"Come on then. Let's get you patched." John knew exactly which tone to use when these kinds of things happened. Bored. Concern usually made his flatmate resistant, panic made him scoff, but bored seemed to calm him completely. Never mind they were leaving a rather thick trail of blood from the kitchen to the bathroom, forget that Sherlock's hand was shaking ever so slightly; if John Watson sounded bored than it was no big deal.

John sat Sherlock down on the closed toilet and rummaged through the medicine cabinet, which was basically stocked full of hospital supplies. They'd started appearing with little post-its attached to them about a week after he moved in. The post-its just listed the contents of each brown paper bag in an official, looping script and were signed with only 'M'.

The doctor grabbed what he needed; heavy surgical thread, some bandages, a local anaesthetic for the wound and a curved needle. He also started the tap with warm water and gave the wound another once-over. There was no telling what had been on the shard of glass that had created the wound, so John added an antiseptic to the rapidly growing pile on the vanity.

John was a quick and efficient physician; any who were treated by him could see that. First he numbed the area with the gel and murmured a soft reassurance when Sherlock visibly flinched. Then he used the antiseptic spray for a total of three seconds (that was all it really needed to work). Next he took a washcloth and dipped it into the running water, swiping it around the wound to clear off the blood. When he rinsed it a second time the soft fabric was left pink instead of white, but it didn't really matter all that much. John was sure he could get the stain out pretty easily with some bleach.

The gash needed four stitches. He probably could've stopped at three but knowing Sherlock he would've had to re-do them, and this just saved time. They were small and neat, perfectly done with a steady, unshaking hand. John allowed himself to admire his own work for a moment.

When he finished he dropped a chaste kiss on Sherlock's thin lips. This… thing between them…it was so new. John was never sure what to do or what was appropriate, but he seemed to have chosen right, because Sherlock's blue eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

"What were you trying to do, anyway?" John dabbed at a smudge of blood on Sherlock's chin that he'd missed on his first go-over.

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock muttered sourly. "I was unsuccessful." He made a little huffing noise that John did not find cute at _all_. He tilted Sherlock's chin to the side and swiped at yet another red smear.

"It matters to me. You blew up my microwave." He wasn't all that upset about it, honestly. With Sherlock's recent Internet fame they could afford to buy another, but it _was_ the second time this month.

Sherlock didn't reply for a long time, leaving John to clean more of his face in silence. When he did answer it was with a spark of bitterness. "You'll laugh at me."

"No I won't." John said, trying to be as serious as possible.

"Based on all prior evidence gathered, you will." Sherlock was staring at a place just over his shoulder, refusing to meet his eye.

"What if I _promise_ not to?" The detective looked at him seriously for a moment, and then sighed warily.

"I… I was attempting to express sentiment."

John didn't even try to hide the grin that spread over his face. Sherlock glared. "You said you wouldn't laugh. You _promised_."

"I'm not laughing, I'm smiling." John grinned wider just to prove it. A slight red flush crept up Sherlock's pale skin and coloured his cheeks, and John nearly did laugh at that. He managed to bite it back at the last second. "And who was this sentiment for, exactly?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You, obviously." John gave him a strange look.

"So…" John started slow, because things were not matching up and he was pretty sure that meant he was missing something. "In order to express sentiment towards me… You blew up my microwave? Why, exactly?"

Not it was Sherlock's turn to bestow a strange look. "Is today not February the fourteenth?"

"Yeah." John didn't have to think about it, he'd been dwelling on Valentines Day for a week or so, trying to decide if it was worth attempting with Sherlock. Sherlock, who was disgusted by almost any public displays of affection shown by others and would sneer behind the backs of hand holding couples.

"And is February fourteenth not the traditional day for expressing appreciation and affection when in an emotionally supportive and sexually satisfying relationship?"

Now it was John's turn to blush. "Yeah…"

"And are you an I not partaking in an emotionally supportive and—"

"—Yes, Sherlock." John cut through the sentence and ignored Sherlock's brief glare.

"I don't see why you're asking the question, then."

John gazed at him. Sherlock gazed back.

The doctor sighed and rolled his eyes, letting Sherlock win this version of their continuing staring contest. "So let me see if I've got this sorted. You blew up my microwave as a Valentines Day present?"

Sherlock tenderly prodded at John's careful stitching and winced. "Don't be absurd." John slapped Sherlock's hand away and started carefully applying the bandages to the wound. He was dangerously close to throwing his hands into the air and admitting defeat but decided to give it one more go.

"Then what happened?"

The detective pursed his lips and gave a tiny sigh. "I was attempting to take two radically different and volatile substances and fuse them into a cohesive whole through the application of heat," He spat out. "Clearly my calculations were off. Hence…" He shrugged.

John stared at him, and the pink flush on Sherlock's skin darkened. "I'm sorry about the microwave…"

John blinked and carefully taped the edge of one of the bandage to Sherlock's skin, wondering what to say to that. When he was sure the bandage was secure he pulled the detective close and kissed him.

It was like their very first kiss, after a long and exhausting chase, when John had wrapped his fingers around the back of his flatmate's neck and kissed him long and hard, tired of this strange dance they'd been partaking in for over three months.

He was gentle but firm, his lips opening ever so slightly to dart his tongue out to meet Sherlock's. At first the detective was rigid from surprise but quickly softened, his own hand rising to cup John's cheek with thin, cold fingers, his lips parting ever so slightly.

John pulled away just enough to talk. "That is the sweetest, most romantic Valentines Day gift I've ever gotten." He chuckled a little. "But next year, can we just do dinner?"

Silver-grey eyes stared at John, calculating. "Next year?"

Now it was John who flushed, but he laughed it off. "Next year."


End file.
